


Wrath: Kikyō's Kill List

by NeutronStarChild



Series: Seven Sins of Inuyasha [2]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Buried Alive, Dark, Enemies, F/M, Kill Bill Universe, Killing, Miscarriage, Murder-Suicide, Revenge, Seven Deadly Sins, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeutronStarChild/pseuds/NeutronStarChild
Summary: Kanna (Brown Recluse), Kagura (Redback), Hakudoshi (Brazilian Wandering Spider), Tsubaki (Brown Widow), and finally, Naraku (Funnel Web). Those were the assassins who took everything from me—my family, his family,my fiancéandour daughter.But they made one cardinal mistake: they left me alive. So one by one, I will send them all to hell. I was never ‘Black Widow,’ I was always ‘Kikyō.’ They will all learn that lesson soon enough and they willallsuffer my wrath.This story is an adaptation of Kill Bill, with Kikyō as "the Bride." So be prepared for some fun and violent darkness.WinnerforBest Darkin 2020 Q4 Inuyasha Fandom Awards byFeudalConnection!
Relationships: InuYasha/Kikyou (InuYasha), Kikyou/Naraku (InuYasha)
Series: Seven Sins of Inuyasha [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931326
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20
Collections: Divergent Adventures of Inuyasha, Inuyasha's Seven Deadly Sins, Quarter 4 2020 Inuyasha Fandom Award Winners





	Wrath: Kikyō's Kill List

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [Fawn_Eyed_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fawn_Eyed_Girl) and [Ruddcatha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruddcatha)
> 
> [ ](https://feudalconnection.tumblr.com/post/635604512250494976/quarter-4-2020-winners)

[ ](https://clementinesgulag.tumblr.com/post/629325206754869248/silly-caucasian-girl-likes-to-play-with-her)

Artwork Commission by [clementinesgulag](https://clementinesgulag.tumblr.com)

* * *

The road in front of me is dusty, as if I am the only condemned soul to travel it in a very long time. If I were not focusing on what I am about to do, I might even reflect on the chain of events that took place that put me here, in this convertible, driving down this abandoned road to an expectant killer. The list is in my glove compartment, red ink and slash marks now as prominent as their names written in my handwriting. There is only one more name on that list, and it is the name I’ve been looking the most forward to crossing off. He is the reason that I’m here instead of where I want to be most in the world. He is the reason I am now the embodiment of wrath. He’s the reason I _was_ Black Widow, but he is also now the reason that I am Kikyō again: Kikyō for the last time. 

I’m about to tell you the story: The story of why I am driving down this road. The story of why I have that list. About why, at last, I am coming for Naraku.  
  


I remember the pain most of all. Not the pain from the weeping wounds scattered across my broken body; I’m talking about the pain of losing everything. Of losing _him_ . Of losing _her_. That day, they stole everything from me. They stole my chance at happiness. I don’t know how I dragged myself to my feet after it was over, but I needed to see him, to hold his body one more time. Because by the time I made it to him, that was all he was: a body.

My Inuyasha. The civilian who found me and loved me and started to make me remember my name. I was Kikyō, not the Black Widow. I was a woman who could fall in love and have a family, not a deadly weapon capable of destroying anyone I was paid enough to destroy. He was a mechanic, and stopped on the side of the road to help me with an overheated radiator. He repaired my car for free, saying “my smile was price enough.” I should’ve known.

This profession? You don’t get out of it easily.

I was stupid. I let myself fall for him. When he asked me on a date, I said yes. When he asked if I wanted a ‘nightcap’ in his apartment, I said yes. When he asked me to marry him, I said yes. We named our little girl—the one I will never get to meet—Kagome. 

I was stupid, and I was punished. Their bodies were strewn around me; people who came expecting a wedding and receiving a massacre. His family, my family, him, and _her_. It took very little time for my bullet-wrecked body to start contracting, trying to rid itself of the last piece I had of him.

 _They_ took this all from me. My chance for hope and family. They left me there to die, punished for having the avarice to believe I was worth more than the life of an assassin—more than the _title_ ‘Black Widow,’ a title that _he_ gave to me.

Naraku. The motherfucker who did this to me. Who did _everything_ to me. He is the one who found me, who trained me to be the weapon I now am. He is the one who gave me my title and started alienating me from my name. I was Black Widow, _his_ Black Widow. And maybe ‘Black Widow’ belonged to Naraku, but ‘ Kikyō’ never did. I wonder if that is why he did what he did. Because his deepest, darkest (and ungrantable) wish was to own ‘ Kikyō’s’ heart.

Problem is, the only person who owns my heart is me. I shared it with Inuyasha, and my sweet wonderful little Kagome. And maybe both of them took a little bit of it to the underworld when those motherfuckers sent them there, but my heart is still my own. And it is furious.

Kanna, Kagura, Hakudoshi, Tsubaki, and finally, _Naraku_. They were the devils incarnate, come to send me and everyone I cared about to hell. I remember them standing over me, impassively watching as I bled and writhed and begged them to tell me why.

That was when Naraku said something I will never forget: “Because, you belong to me. And you forgot that.” He then aimed his gun at my chest, and he fired.

I guess he didn’t realize that my heart was already dead.

But, my heart _wasn’t_ dead, and neither was my body. Not even after he did that. It persisted, to aid me in what was going to happen next. I woke up and started moving, and… it happened. The moment that I miscarried my sweet little girl, my heart turned black. I became a wraith, focused on something singular. Sending every one of the people who did this to me to hell with my own hands. They took everything from me; I was going to take everything from them.

I dragged myself to my father-in-law’s car, and I pulled myself in. I don’t know how I did it so don’t ask. It hurt like hell, but when you’ve lost your heart to wrath, things that normally hurt don’t anymore. I drove myself to a little free clinic that patches people up with no questions asked, and I started preparing.

On a piece of paper, I wrote down their names: Kanna, Kagura, Hakudoshi, Tsubaki, and finally, _Naraku_ . And as I wrote their name, I saw their faces. I concentrated on each of them, seeing every detail, every skill they had, and their _weaknesses_.

They tried to take everything away from me, so I was coming for them. And I would not relent until every single one of them was in hell where they belonged. At the top of the paper, I add a title. It is no use obscuring what is to come, and… I relished in the look of fear that would appear on each of their faces as they saw that list and saw their name: “ Kikyō’s Kill List.”

Not ‘Black Widow’s Kill List.’ No. ‘ _Kikyō’s_ Kill List.’  
I am Kikyō, and I am coming for them.  
  


Maybe I should start by explaining who we are. Naraku called us ‘the Spiders.’ Yeah, not the most unique name, but there is nothing like arachnophobia to help one’s assassin squad gain notoriety, and that we did. We were all given codenames. We adopted them; we lived them. They became who we were, our civilian names nothing more than echoes from a time in our lives that we weren’t trapped in his web.

The Brown Recluse used to be called Kanna, but I’m not sure she really _ever_ was a civilian. Her eyes were always dead, set to the task at hand. I sometimes wondered if she killed simply because it was where she could make the most money. Her codename wasn’t a coincidence. Kanna was the master of killing her marks, while leaving her own hands completely clean. She was the weakest of the Spiders, but the bitch was good at trapping her victims. Maybe that’s why I decided to target her first. I didn’t want her to have a heads up that I was coming. Her tactics could be really nasty—for instance, she liked poison: specifically, the types of bioweapons that were outlawed at the Geneva Convention. Shit, the only time I saw light in those dead eyes of hers was when someone was writhing from the pain of being eaten inside out because she’d perfected some new poisonous compound.

Kanna always was a scary little thing.

So, as I recovered, I started planning. Taking that many bullets to a body is… well, it takes a while to get back on your feet. And I didn’t just need to get better, I needed to… murder some people. Strength takes a while to build back up. But, I did it. Every fucking day I pushed myself a little harder, a little farther. Every day, my reactions became faster and the pangs of hurt receded further into me. _Pain_. An absurd concept. When everything is ripped away from you, the pain of the body means nothing. And the pain in my soul was numb, nonexistent. Damn, how I could’ve used this pain tolerance back when I was Black Widow. But now, I’m Kikyō, and I’ll take it. Because I have work to do.

As I trained, I focused more and more of my time picturing Kanna looking down at me on my wedding day, disaffected by my begging them all to tell me what I’d done wrong—not that I should have expected anything different. It would feel good to finally send the rest of Kanna to that dead world her eyes already inhabited. Though, there was a catch. The unforeseen problem starting with Kanna? She was hard to track down. Real hard. She wiped herself off the grid and barely left crumbs. And unfortunately for me, Kanna was keeping extremely careful track of anyone or anything that sniffed around those crumbs.

Kanna lived in this little shack in some backwoods Bumfuck part of Louisiana. It was bayou. It was straight out of _Deliverance_. I was careful, silent. I parked far enough away that she wouldn’t see me coming. I didn’t bring much with me: a couple daggers and of course my Sig. I was still debating whether I shoot the bitch in the face and be done with it, or if… I ask her questions. Kanna liked to play with her food—I knew this—and she spent more time constructing her traps than she did paying attention to her marks. I had no idea yet, but this fact was going to come in real handy.

The walk was short, and the swamp noises covered most of my approach. But something felt off—the hairs on the back of my neck were prickling—but I’d come this far, and I was not leaving this place until either Kanna was dead or I was. I kicked open the door, howling her name. A couple of things happened in rapid succession after I announced myself. First, I heard her high-pitched child-voice squeak, then the burning started as I choked on some pepper spray. Yes, the bitch managed to gift me with a facefull of mace before scrambling into the fucking labyrinth she called a house.

“Catch me if you can!” I heard her giggle, followed by clear footsteps down a staircase. _Great_ , she was leading me into the basement.

Kanna was a grown-ass woman and when you heard her talk, you’d swear she was a goddamn schoolgirl. That’s how Kanna got you—you would think, _Look at that cute little bunny rabbit_. Well, she was a rabid bunny who liked to gnaw on you until you begged her to put you out of your misery. I let myself howl in pain, which helped me start to get used to it. The problem was less the burning and more whether or not I could see. I made the call to quickly go to the sink and rinse out my eyes. Kanna was lying in wait for me to walk into her trap. Well, if I was going to do that, I wanted at least some of my goddamned vision back.

The water felt good in my eyes, and as I opened them, I could see. I felt like I was looking through a cloudy window, but all I really needed was to be able to decipher depths and shapes. I wheeled back around and gave chase. Kanna was going to make me descend into her handcrafted hell. And I walked willingly into her trap.

When I made it to the bottom of the stairs, I understood why Kanna wanted me down here. Through my clouded eyes, I saw at least seven of her, reflected on walls, the floor, and the ceiling. Next, I heard her maniacal little princess giggle, and seizure-inducing strobe lights began going off. Kanna had created a funhouse of death in her own fucking basement.

“You always did seem like you were on your way to becoming Buffalo Bill, Kanna,” I growled, paying close attention to everything I was seeing.

“Kikyō Kikyō Kikyō… you’re not dead.” Her voice had a singsong quality to it, but I could hear it. Fear. Surprise.

She may have had a trap ready for _someone_ , but she was not expecting the trap to need to trap _me_. I hoped to god that this trap was like her others, with mirrors around the perimeter, angled so they all reflected her. She usually put a trap pit in the center of the room, so I needed to watch out for that. And I thought that as long as I kept a direct line of sight on the stairs, she'd stay in her hiding place. Running across my line of sight, even while I am temporarily vision-impaired, is instant death, and Kanna knew it.

“Kanna! You tried to kill me and I will have my revenge!” I shouted, trying to sound more hysterical than I actually was.

I watched as the flashes of Kanna’s shape changed, and I could tell she was trying to lead me further into her basement. I had no doubt that if I took a single wrong step, I would be poisoned, bludgeoned, or fall down a deep and likely rancid hole. I walked around the mirrors, making sure not to go anywhere near the center of the room, nor the wall. Kanna loved walls. Walls meant someone having fewer ways to go—made directing poison toward them easier. That and her penchant for hair-trigger wrecking balls that would bludgeon me and put me in a pit were the only reasons Kanna was so bold as to put herself down here with me. 

“This would have been so much easier if you stayed dead like a good girl,” Kanna pouted.

My vision was starting to return, so I was starting to be able to see her shapes more clearly in those damn mirrors. Even through the strobes I was now getting a sense of what was real and what was illusion around me. I figured out where she _wanted_ me to chase her and where the exit was, which was good, because I thought that I could ‘chase’ her a bit and still keep her boxed in. I still had my line-of-sight to the stairs, and she knew that. I only needed to figure out one or two more angles at this point. I thought that I knew which walls would shoot me in the face with poison, meaning it was just the bludgeons to watch for. I could stall. And, frankly, there were things I wanted to know.

“Why Kanna? Why did you want me dead?” I pleaded. This was something I actually wanted to know, but it was better if I sounded scared when I said it.

“Because you tried to run without permission,” Kanna chided.

I paused to consider what she said. She was right; I did run. Because I didn’t want this life. I was tired of being Black Widow. I wanted… I wanted… to be an ordinary woman.

“I didn’t need permission,” I countered.

“Oh, Naraku sure thought you did. He was _upset_ you left him like that.” I could hear the faux hurt in Kanna’s girlish voice.

I suspected as much. But it was nice to get it confirmed from the mouth of one who thought they were telling a secret to the dead. Naraku wanted to own me. He owned Black Widow, and he thought that I was Black Widow, when in reality I was Kikyō.

“Do you know where they are?” I growled.

Kanna outright laughed in reply, and finally I heard the real venom in her voice. “You’ll be dead long before you find out Black Widow!”

She’d told me enough. I knew exactly what I needed from her. Information from her mouth was now useless, but I would definitely be helping myself to some of her personal electronics once my task was done. I fingered the Sig. I was not going to play anymore games. I’d now found the bludgeons based on a shadow they cast on the walls, so I only needed to figure out one more thing. Left or right.

Kanna was a creature of habit. In the past, this had been fine, because she would set a trap for a person who didn’t know she was coming. Next person, same type of trap. Sure, Kanna mixed it up a bit, but she had… _preferences_ . And I was one of the few who had been around her long enough to _study_ her traps. I knew what she liked, what she chose, how she lured, how she trapped. And I couldn’t be sure, but I thought that Kanna forgot this.

It was left. Because Kanna was right-handed. She liked playing to her strong side, and given she was _facing_ me, my going left put me onto Kanna’s strong side. The trapdoor would be to the right, and Kanna to the left. I’d solved the puzzle.

I knew that I needed to do it fast. Because Kanna would quickly figure out that I’d solved her maze, but I’d been training for this moment for months since my ‘death’, and for at least a decade prior to that.

I silently counted down, and then I moved as fast as I could. One step: skirting the mirrors, my hand was now on the Sig. Two steps: ducking as a very heavy object flew past me, a tripwire I ‘accidentally’ tripped, and the Sig was at my shoulder. Third step: and I saw Kanna, the real Kanna, her hand on a little button, waiting for me to chase her the “wrong” way, but it was too late. She was in my sights and I squeezed the trigger. She didn’t even have time to react before there was a clean little hole in her forehead. The lazy way it wept blood and brain fluid were in complete contrast to the Jackson Pollock painting of blood, bone, hair and brain matter that spattered out the back of Kanna’s head. She was thrown against the wall from the gunshot, and slowly slid down as her body got the signal that she’s dead.

Finally, Kanna was as dead as her eyes always were.

I ran upstairs as fast as I could. I didn’t want to find out Kanna had some nasty thing on a timer down there. I didn’t linger in her house long, but thankfully she was not expecting to get attacked tonight, so she didn’t have time to stow any of her useful possessions. The only things I took were her phone and her laptop. I thought about burning her house down, but a fire would draw attention a whole lot quicker than the smell of corpse rot, so I left it be.

When I got back to the car, I looked at the list on my dashboard.

I picked up my red pen, and I drew a deliberate line through Kanna (Brown Recluse).

One down, four more to go.  
  


Killing Kanna first was the right call, but now that I’d done it, I wanted them all to know that it was _me_ who did it, so I left a little present at Kanna’s house.

A single symbol, carved with one of my daggers, into Kanna’s door. The hourglass.

If I were being honest, I wanted to do more, I wanted to write my _name_ , but… I had work to do. I wanted the Spiders to know who’d done it, who was coming for _them_ , but I didn’t want to get bogged down trying to evade the police, too. The hourglass would suffice. Things were set into motion that could not be unset, and I knew now that I had to move. I _knew_ who my next target would be, and goddamn if I wasn’t looking a little bit forward to it.

Redback was a Spider who reclaimed her name— _Kagura_ . She did it by taking over the Tokyo underworld after the auspicious day she took everything from me. It turns out that Naraku can be bought, and the cooperation of the Yakuza was an acceptable price, at least for _her_ to reclaim her name.

The plane ticket to Tokyo was easy. But the other thing that I needed to do first was going to be harder. Inuyasha only showed it to me once, and taking it felt like I was robbing the grave. But avenging his death, the death of his family, and the death of _our_ family, felt like it brought honor to it, to _him_.

So before I went to Tokyo, I found myself in a small graveyard in west Texas, looking down at the three gravestones there: Inuyasha Taisho, Kagome Taisho and… Kikyō Taisho. Before you ask, yes, there is a body in the grave that displays my name. A pretty face and a load of cash can get you a lot in a place as desolate as the outlands away from El Paso, including a fake death certificate, a body with approximately your dimensions, and your secrets erased from existence. But _Kikyō’s_ grave was not the one I was focusing on at that moment.

“I am so sorry, my loves.” I knelt down between Inuyasha and Kagome’s graves. “I failed you.”

That was all I could get out before I started to cry. Me, the black-hearted vengeance wraith. Maybe I lied when I said that my heart belonged to me. Because the moment I stared down at their graves, I understood that it belonged to _them_ , and was there with them, in the afterlife.

“Inuyasha my darling, I come to ask your forgiveness.” I wiped the tears from my eyes and said it in a whisper. “I need Tetsusaiga. I need it to seek my vengeance for your deaths. I will use it to spill the blood of those who spilt yours, and when it has served its noble purpose, I will bring it with me to the afterlife.”

A warm breeze caressed my cheeks at that exact moment, rustling my hair the way he used to. It was the sign I was looking for, the _permission_. It gave me the purpose to stand back up, walk away from them, and toward what I must do next. I drove to our little bungalow, making sure to check that I was not followed, that no one was watching, that everything was as it was. Thankfully, the Spiders seemed content to riddle me with bullet holes, and left Inuyasha’s and my home well alone. Once Kanna’s _demise_ was discovered, that would probably not be the case, but for now, our little house was peaceful, mourning the death of its inhabitants. The house creaked at me in greeting as I crossed through it, my destination known. The item I sought would be in the bedroom, _our_ bedroom, under a loose floorboard.

I heaved the bed aside, choking down the grief the memories of Inuyasha and me _in that bed_ stirred. I used my heel to listen for the hollow part of the floor. When I found it, I pried up the floorboard and looked down into the subfloor. There it was: the most beautiful katana I had ever seen. It was an heirloom that had been passed down through the Taisho family since feudal times, passing from father to son in a continuous line, until it landed with Inuyasha. He’d shown me the night I said yes to his proposal, just because. He never knew about Black Widow, but… it was the most perfect blade that Black Widow had ever seen; Black Widow was salivating.

I took Tetsusaiga out of its hiding place, cradling the sheath gently in the palms of my hands, and raised it to come level with my chest—with my _heart_ . The black lacquer of the sheath shone like glistening obsidian. Trailing down its length were white mother-of-pearl sakura blossoms, the centers of the flowers were red and fanned out, adding a small red vein to kiss each delicately inlaid petal. But the sheath was not what made this sword, _his_ sword, special. It was what was inside.

As I supported the perfectly-balanced instrument in my left hand, I wrapped my right hand around the handle, slowly, gently. The wrapping was a supple leather, with just enough give. It was easy for me to grip—almost like holding a loved one’s hand. I grasped it tightly and began to liberate the blade from its sheath. The first thing I saw as the blade slowly revealed itself to me was the engraving on the blade collar. Atop a small hill was the figure of a grand dog, lifting its head and howling in front of a full moon. Directly above the moon were the inlaid kanji characters for “Taisho.” It was a blade in honor of the great dog demons of Japan, passed down through generations of Taishos. Until there were no more to pass it down to. Until there was only me.

As more of the blade came clear of its sheath, I saw the intricately worked gleaming steel, showing the layered lines of a katana steel folded for maximum flexibility _and_ maximum strength. It was a blade only the true masters would be capable of crafting, one of a kind, and I was holding it. But then, I saw something else, something _reflected_ in the perfectly crafted steel. My eyes.

It hit me. My eyes were the last eyes with ties to that exquisite steel. And even as I had looked at myself plenty of times in the mirror (including in Kanna’s nightmare-basement), it was like I was seeing them for the first time. I, who had become Wrath incarnate, on a crusade to imbue this metal with the blood of those who had destroyed its last proper master.

Now that I had the last thing I needed, it was time to go to Tokyo and cut off the head of the Yakuza. And it was probable that she was already waiting for me.

* * *

In all the ways that Kanna’s eyes were dead, Kagura’s eyes were full of fury. Kanna looked down at my bleeding form without emotion. Kagura looked down with some combination of satisfaction and relief. She always was the Spider I had the most respect for. Kagura didn’t do things by halves.

Kagura has _history_ with the Yakuza, so it was only fitting how she came to be their queen. Kagura’s mother was a Korean immigrant, and was walking home near the wrong bar at the wrong time of night. That’s how Kagura came to be: Korean mother raped by Yakuza father in the back of some shady bar. Unfortunately for everyone involved (and I include myself in that), her Korean mother decided to have her. And that’s where Kagura’s part of the tale begins.

At some point, her Yakuza father found out about his little family of sin, and decided to take things into his own hands. He managed to hunt down and kill Kagura’s mother when Kagura was 7, but she escaped her father’s wrath. Perhaps it was a mercy he did for her: I can’t be sure. But it was a mercy that would come back to haunt him.

For some number of years, Kagura was a street rat. She was extraordinary at finding ways to survive, using every tool available to her to get her next meal, her next shelter, her next everything. Somewhere along the line, someone started noticing her. Unlike most of the other older men who showed her interest, however, this one took her in without expecting anything in return. His name was Goryōmaru, and he was a warrior monk who ran a dojo. He gave Kagura food and shelter in exchange for cleaning and cooking.

Kagura spied on the men as they trained, and secretly, she trained herself too. She paid attention, and when she thought Goryōmaru was asleep, she would practice. What she didn’t know was he was observing her too, and marveled at how much a little orphan girl could learn just by watching. So he took to training her. During the day she grew strong from cleaning and cooking, and during the night she and her adopted father dueled, working both with hand-to-hand combat and with weapons. By the time Kagura was 15, she was strong enough to defeat most men who had the hubris to challenge her.

But like all things, the comfortable life she found would come to an end. Goryōmaru got on the wrong side of a gambling debt, and found himself in the sights of the Yakuza. One fateful day, they came for him, for his dojo. It was clear that the price the Yakuza intended to collect was more than money. But on that fateful day, they sent the wrong goon, for it was a goon that Kagura was all too familiar with. It was the man who killed her mother, and only later, did she find out that it was also the man who sired her.

That day, she offered _herself_ as payment for Goryōmaru’s debt, as well as his life. As she was led out of the dojo, she looked at her adopted father. It was the second-to-last time she would ever see him.

No one knows what happened in the little clubhouse they led Kagura to; all they would ever know for sure is that all of them, every last one, would be found dead, most of them stabbed. But one man, a man who sired a half-Japanese, half-Korean daughter, also had his tongue cut out of his mouth.

The last time Kagura saw Goryōmaru was that night, before he disappeared. She may have paid his debts and slain his debt collectors, but he would never be safe again. Goryōmaru thanked Kagura for his second chance at life, and they gave each other the first and last hug of their long companionship.

“Take this,” were the only words Goryōmaru said to Kagura as they separated, to disappear from existence.

Kagura only owned two things she actually cared about. The day she fled her slain mother’s house she grabbed one thing: the fan her mother used on hot summer days. The day she fled her mentor and adopted father’s dojo, he gifted her a sword, a katana, called ‘Dakki.’ It was an heirloom of Goryōmaru’s family, passed on to the one he considered his daughter.

Somewhere along the line, after she had established herself as an apex assassin, Naraku found her. It was convenient for both of them. She honed her cruelty under his mentorship, though her sights were always set on finishing her conquest of the Yakuza, and Naraku’s sights were set on… me. After that day, _my_ day, the Spiders disbanded. Why? I can’t be sure. Maybe killing me took the fight out of Naraku. But either way, within a month of slaughtering everyone and everything I ever cared about, Kagura did cut off the Yakuza’s head and installed herself there.

It was probably because she learned from the Spiders, but Kagura soon recruited her own personal army, nicknamed “the 88 Cranes” (There aren’t actually 88 of them, but the Japanese sure do like their numerology…), and a couple of truly despicable subordinates: Kagerōmaru and Jūrōmaru. They were creepy twins who were some combination of bodyguards, enforcers, and CFOs of Kagura’s empire.

Rumor has it one of the other bosses of the Yakuza once called her a whorechild Korean trash. His body was found dumped in the river. His head was never recovered.

So that is who I was facing. Tragic backstory, yes. Rags to riches story? Sure. Bitch who walked into a chapel and shot a dozen innocent people and me? Also yes.

That was the only mistake Kagura has ever made. She left me alive. And she left me an opening to seek my revenge. I did not doubt that if Kagura knew of my quest, she would be waiting for me. But unlike Kanna, she would face me head-on. It was refreshing.

One would think that finding a Yakuza boss would be extremely challenging. It’s not. Because Yakuza bosses want to be found. Perhaps that is why I found myself staring at the sushi restaurant / concert venue, “Where the Wind Kisses the Sea,” only three days after I landed in Tokyo (just enough time to shake off the jet lag).

The room I walked into was large and spacious, with beautiful water features lining a central room and a glass floor that sat atop a Zen garden. The band playing on this particular night was quite jaunty, which meant a lot of people were dancing. I saw the harried proprietors of “Wind” bustling up to a private room in the corner, and just from the fear and frustration on their faces, I knew that was where I could find Kagura and her posse.

There were so many ways to announce myself. I could yell her name; I could yell “Redback”; I could go storming up and take her by surprise. I did none of those things. Instead, I thrust Tetsusaiga into the ground and I stared up at the corner, waiting. The hosts tried only once to get my attention before thinking better of it. Finally, I saw some henchman fuck stick his head out and stare down at me. He scrambled back in to his mistress, and still I waited.

The screen opened slowly, and Kagura emerged, cocooned by her henchmen and bodyguards. She was dressed immaculately, in a white kimono with little purple fans delicately dancing down its fabric. The moment she saw me, recognition flashed across her face. It was minute, but I saw the fear I had desired to see. My intentions were clear.

“You and I have a score to settle, Redback,” I called out in Japanese. Kagura flinched at being called that name, but she recovered quickly.

After one more glance in my direction, Kagura gave a single nod; her henchmen howled and began advancing on me. The rest of the venue erupted into chaos. People stampeded past me in their frenzy to get away from what they knew was coming. I stood stock still. Even the goons Kagura counted as bodyguards had enough honor to wait until the innocents had cleared out. It took much less time than one would expect for over a hundred people to abandon a restaurant through a single exit.

The moment the last desperate soul made their escape, I pulled Tetsusaiga out of the ground. It was time for it to taste blood.

The first of Kagura’s Cranes surrounded me: six men, one woman. They wore masks and wild grins, thinking that they had found willing prey walking directly into their lair. They were mostly young, disaffected, and their movements told me that while they had skills with a blade, they were undisciplined. I had only to wait a moment for the first one to charge at me, to start the dance.

It was the wildest looking man who broke ranks first, shrieking and raising his katana over his head. I sidestepped him and let my sword slice him just below his rib. The flesh gave easily under such a masterfully crafted blade. He fell before he’d even finished his sword’s arc through the air. The second two men were more tentative, trying to shake off the shock of what I’d just done to their comrade, so their attempts at blows were more careful. One nearly got my arm, but a quick parry as well as me throwing my leg out to trip the pair took care of those two. I stabbed them both quickly—piercing between ribs and aiming for the hearts. They died in battle, with honor, and with the least pain I could gift them in their death.

The final three men came at me wildly then, shocked and angry to have seen me so deftly dispatch their friends. None knew they were fighting ‘Black Widow’, but it seemed they were beginning to understand just how badly outmatched they were. I had to dance backward for these, and one got me in the chest with a well-placed butt of his sword handle, but wild is even better than tentative. I slipped underneath their blows, sliding directly between two of them. I then used one man’s body to take the sword thrust meant for me. He howled and stumbled to the ground. That left the two men and the one woman, who still seemed to be watching. I grabbed the sheath of Tetsusaiga, praying that Inuyasha and his ancestors would forgive me, and blocked the double blow of the men’s katanas. With my sword, I threw as much strength as I had and in a wide arc I cut just below their knees. Tetsusaiga sliced the muscle, then resisted ever-so-slightly at the bone, but my cut was true, and both men found themselves bleeding out from the stumps where they used to have legs.

The woman finally made her move: more deliberate, more practiced. I was impressed. She was the most skilled of her comrades. Her blows were clean, and she hit me hard in exactly the same spot that her colleague had. My chest would definitely have a bruise tomorrow, but, even with her skill, she was still predictable. I hit her in the head with Tetsusaiga’s sheath, knocking her off-balance, then thrust my sword into her heart: an honorable death for a warrior.

Seven bodyguards down.

I wiped the blood off my blade with the corner of my shirt, then pointed it up at Kagura, who still stood watching.

“I did not realize you were alive.” Kagura said it deliberately, in English.

“You were mistaken,” I shouted back. “Now. Who else are you going to sacrifice to me before you take me on yourself?”

“Hi!” a creepy high-pitched voice assaulted my eardrums as someone walked down the stairs. Jūrōmaru.

Kagura and I smiled at each other. She was not going to make this easy, but my revenge was voracious. Feeding it the blood of those who defended my tormentors would simply encourage its hunger to grow.

I looked back at the wide-eyed bodyguard as he slipped down the stairs. He was holding a chained mace. Smart choice. Range weapon that allowed him to stay out of the radius of Tetsusaiga. Finally I felt like I was fighting someone who would give me a challenge.

“Your reputation precedes you, Black Widow. I am delighted to be the one to take your life.” He sounded so excited I could have sworn he was a puppy wagging his tail.

I threw Kagura a look. Sure, I knew Jūrōmaru was fast. I knew that he was smarter about fighting than most of the other Cranes. But the disrespect he was showing me made it clear that I would win. I think Kagura knew that too.

“My name is Kikyō,” is all I said before the fight began.

He swung the mace over his head with skill and grace, and I had to think seriously about where I needed to dodge next. When his chain wrapped around Tetsusaiga and pulled it away from me, I started questioning whether my impression of his disrespect was misplaced.

Then he giggled. And that lit something inside me.

I jumped onto one of the tables, hoping that he would take my bait. He’d removed my best weapon from me, but, to an assassin, everything is a weapon, so I just made do. The table cleaved in half, splintering from his blow. I then jumped behind one of the table’s halves. Only one more hit and I’d have a weapon. He gifted it to me, missing my face only by inches. Wood shrapnel again exploded from my temporary hiding place, but this blow freed a table leg, with the nails still intact. It was perfect; it was exactly what I needed… Unfortunately, in that moment, the moment I’d taken my eyes off of Jūrōmaru, the spiked ball hit me dead-center in my chest. 

Fuck, it _hurt_.

At the same time, the blow to my chest was a hell of a lot better cushioned than it would have been were I a man. Turns out tits come in handy for things other than to make a man drool or to feed a baby. I breathed in and out as quickly as I could manage, still dodging the ball. I was slower than usual. That’s probably how he got the fucking chain around my neck. He started tightening my noose, and I looked around for the very thing that had gotten me into this situation in the first place. There, only a foot or two to the left of my body, was my weapon. I needed to do it quickly, because if I didn’t, he’d crush my windpipe.

I dropped myself to my knees, grabbed the table leg, then bashed it into his foot. He howled as the nails pierced straight through, blood dying his white shoes red. In his momentary distraction, I swung the nails one more time, at the precise point between his eye and his ear, making contact with his temple. The moment the nails penetrated the skin, he was dead.

I unwound the chain from my neck and picked my sword back up, amused to see Kagura still watching.

“That’s eight,” I called to her.

“Lucky,” Kagura replied. She always was cheeky. “But you don’t think it’s going to be that easy, do you?”

As she said it, I heard them. The howling of motorcycles. The screeching of brakes. And the slamming of car doors.

“For a second there? Yeah, I kinda did,” I replied.

It was odd. I was enjoying the banter. I had every plan to watch the life bleed out of Kagura’s eyes, but I always did respect her, and she me. Redbacks and Black Widows were near sisters in the spider world, after all.

A scream broke our little moment, as someone else burst through the door. At first I thought it was the battle cry of a new Crane I’d have to kill, but I recognized the man. Kagerōmaru. The other half of Kagura’s creepy brother bodyguards. He was howling for his dead brother as much as to rally the troops.

I looked back up at Kagura. She had her fan in her hands. She opened it, and with three deliberate motions, she sent the rest of the 88 Cranes bearing down upon me. No—she was not going to make her death easy. But I wouldn’t want it any other way.

I can’t say for sure, because I am not Kagura, but I think she usually kept her best warriors with her. I say that because it was nearly as easy dispatching the next 50 or so of her Cranes as it was the first eight. They were wild, stupid, unpracticed, and scared. They didn’t know that mobbing me was their best course of action, so little groups of them attacked me and they all seemed content to wait their turn to cross blades with me and meet their deaths (or at the very least, the loss of a limb or two). Sure, plenty got some sort of blow on me, and Jūrōmaru’s blows had slowed me down… slightly. But… it was almost... easy. There was honor in fighting with their katanas. Honor even in dying to a superior warrior as they protected their mistress. And so they died, one after the other.

I hoped that Tetsusaiga was happy with its newfound purpose. I hoped too that Inuyasha and his ancestors approved of my quest for revenge. Because soon, I was surrounded by the writhing, groaning, crying bodies of nearly every member of Kagura’s band of Yakuza goons. The restaurant, which so recently had a band playing something that made everyone bop their heads and dance, was now dyed red with blood.

Kagura had not moved from her perch; she had not stopped watching me. She was not going to run, not going to flee. But she was also going to throw everything she had at me. Vengeance had to be earned. A chance to cross blades with Kagura had to be earned.

“Almost.” We said it to each other.

Kagura looked over to her left, and I saw the wild angry eyes of Kagerōmaru, short blades in both hands. He was waiting for me. Waiting for a chance to make me pay for taking his brother from him. Just as I was here, waiting to make Kagura pay for taking Inuyasha and Kagome from _me_. It was… fitting.

“I will be outside in the garden. If you make it to me,” Kagura said, turning away from me at last and retreating through the doorway. It was her signal for Kagerōmaru to attack.

“You _cunt_!” Kagerōmaru jumped down from the second story to the first, to face me properly.

Kagerōmaru’s rage was a different kind of wild than the first of those I killed. It lacked any semblance of self-preservation. Kagerōmaru wanted to kill me, and had no thoughts of keeping himself alive in the process. I was suddenly at a disadvantage. I was fighting to make it to Kagura, afraid to die early. He was fighting _me_ with no thought of whether his death would be the price.

He was quicker than his brother, and where Jūrōmaru could keep his distance, Kagerōmaru was charging toward me, taking slice after slice of Tetsusaiga as if he couldn’t feel its pain. I almost _felt_ for him. He was experiencing the same thing I did. Feeling his heart die inside of his body even while he was completely alive. We advanced and retreated, chased and fled, using the entirety of the restaurant as our dojo. And Kagerōmaru was _fast_. He’d taken a couple of good slices out of my arms. Never deep enough to end their function, but certainly deep enough to weep blood.

Where I was in okay shape, he was in terrible shape. I’d managed to cut his right arm deep enough that not only was blood flowing out of it in a fountain, but it lay limply to his side. A slice of Tetsusaiga had also cut through his mask, and looked to have also nicked his eye. Everywhere he walked a pool of the blood he was losing followed him. But still, I was scared. Not a single one of those injuries was going to stop him. So… I had to end it.

“I will get my revenge!” Kagerōmaru howled, and he took a desperate charge at me. The timing had to be perfect, or I would be skewered by the blade in his left hand. I stood still until it was time, then threw all my weight into Tetsusaiga’s arc. Just before Kagerōmaru’s blade would have pierced me, he stuttered to a halt, his head having flown clean off.

The 88 Cranes were no more. All that was left was Kagura.

I walked slowly up the stairs, before turning around and facing the bloodbath that my vengeance had wrought.

“If you are lucky enough to have your lives, you may keep them. But leave your limbs. Those are mine,” I called to them in Japanese. There may have been a dozen who would survive what was just done, but I had no desire to be their executioner. Their defeat was enough.

I took stock of my own body. Some cuts nagged me, but mostly they’d stopped bleeding. The bruises on my chest from my first little amuse bouche of death tied in with the one Jūrōmaru gifted me were going to slow me down, at least a little bit. The cuts to my arms from Kagerōmaru too were going to hurt. But overall, I was in shape to face Kagura.

She had time to meditate and prepare. Her body was not tired from the exertion of killing. But she was not powered by righteous vengeance. Only I was.

I walked deliberately out through the private room, to a beautiful Japanese garden. A dusting of snow obscured the ground, and this place had a sense of serenity. Kagura’s delicate steps took her to the back of the garden. She stood in front of a stone sculpture, quietly considering me. Her hair was up and decorated with a small feather pin, white like her kimono. Dakki was still sheathed at her side.

“That is quite an impressive blade,” Kagura commented as I walked toward her. “Where did you get it?”

“It is an heirloom,” I answered. “From the man I loved. The man you slaughtered. It is called Tetsusaiga.”

Kagura’s eyes widened. Unbeknownst to me, Tetsusaiga was famous, in part because the master who made it centuries ago only made a dozen or so swords. Most of those were in the houses of collectors. This was one of the few that had been “lost”.

“It is time for Tetsusaiga to meet Dakki,” Kagura declared. “Time for you to see if you can earn your revenge.”

It was fitting that I would cross the sword I inherited, because Kagura took a life (Inuyasha’s), with the sword she inherited, because she saved a life (Goryōmaru’s). We bowed to one another, then slowly, as if looking in a mirror, unsheathed our swords.

Kagura circled me, assessing my body. She’d watched my fight with her subordinates carefully, to keep stock of where I was hit, what would hurt, where I was weak. And I could see her mind working now, mapping those places carefully. Unlike all the rest, Kagura would be a true challenge. Were I to truly deserve my revenge, this was the fight where I would have to earn it.

Kagura struck first, swiftly and accurately. I was able to parry, though I did not completely block the blow. My left shoulder. Bitch had paid attention. The sound of our blades hitting one another created a beautiful harmonious song. It wailed its regrets that two of the most powerful female assassins the world had ever known were trying to kill one another.

Kagura struck again, left shoulder, again, but I was ready for her this time. I parried, then I took my chance and let my own sword swing. The movement, though, was too slow, and Kagura easily knocked my sword away. I watched carefully. Kagura made a poor decision in her outfit that night. Her arms were free and graceful, but the bind of the kimono restricted her motions just the slightest bit, giving me just the slightest advantage. It was not enough to be decisive, but it would be enough to keep me in the fight.

We crossed blades again: fast, deliberate. Kagura kept pressing her advantage on that shoulder, but not so predictably that I could tell the next time she was going to do it. Still, I thought I’d started to recognize a pattern to her blows, so I started… anticipating. That was when Dakki struck true, and she sliced me deep, her blade running down my ribs as it went. I was lucky she didn’t put more force into the blow, or I would’ve been a goner.

I howled from the pain, and stumbled backward, blood already trickling down my torso. It fucking _hurt_ . And I deserved the cut, because I forgot the most important rule: never think you can predict your enemy until you are _sure_ you can predict your enemy. And Kagura was so deadly because she was unpredictable, and could knowingly feign predictability. I fell into that fucking trap.

“Silly girl. A sword does not make one a warrior.” Kagura’s words were garbled because of the pain I was in. “You’ve played at being a samurai. It is only fitting that you now die like one.”

Kagura aimed Dakki for my heart. I deflected her blade without much effort, and I punched her with my left hand before she could readjust her momentum. _No one_ was going to claim I was not a warrior.

“Come at me.” I let my eyes focus in on hers. “With everything.”

Kagura took a little stutter-step backward. Then she was attacking again, and even in spite of the pain, I handled it. It was as if Tetsusaiga had finally accepted me, like I could feel the spirits of Inuyasha and his ancestors flowing through the blade into me and guiding my strokes. We attacked and parried, we danced, and I bled. But I’ve bled before, from a lot worse. The pain took a lot less time to get used to than I was expecting.

Finally I saw the opening. Kagura’s movement was one iota too short from her kimono, allowing me to thrust Tetsusaiga at just the right angle to make contact. I stabbed into Kagura’s thigh like butter, stopping only when it finally reached bone. I retracted the blade and waited. Kagura’s eyes were wide, and slowly I saw the blooming of red on her white kimono, reaching her tabi only moments later.

“I apologize,” Kagura said. “I should not have said what I said earlier.”

“For _that_ , you are forgiven,” I answered, but it was time. This fight needed to end. And I needed either to have my vengeance or my death. “Now. Come at me with everything.”

The last of our blows were vicious, powerful, final. We both knew that this was to end, and we both gave it everything. The sounds of Dakki and Tetsusaiga dancing off of each other rang through the sky, as did our grunts and howls. Kagura was bleeding and limping, but so was I.

Then finally it happened. Kagura anticipated _me_ wrong. She thought I would go for a swing when instead I went for a thrust, putting everything—my strength, my rage, my vengeance and my life—into a single motion. Tetsusaiga plunged into Kagura’s kimono, through her ribcage, and into her heart.

Kagura shuddered violently and collapsed to the ground. My sword followed her motion, keeping her upright. When her eyes found mine, Kagura spoke plainly, choking on the blood that was escaping her lips.

“You are the only one, Kikyō, I can accept dying to.”

And then I watched the light go out of her eyes, her debt to me now repaid. Kagura was always the Spider I respected the most, and I was grateful I could give her the honorable death she deserved.

Two down, three to go.  
  


Killing Kagura accomplished what killing Kanna had not: it sent tremors through the rest of the Spiders. If they didn’t know before that I was not in that grave in west Texas, they sure knew now. Kanna had been a flea I crushed between my fingernails, and Kagura had been a wasp that I could swat with a fly swatter. True, she had a sting, and … a large number of stupid and enthusiastic drones willing to die for her, but… she was taken by surprise. The next Spiders would not be.

As I sat on the plane back from Tokyo, two names crossed off my list, Funnel Web was sifting through Kanna’s house. He only paused for a moment before walking through the door, recognizing my hourglass carved into it. He walked down into Kanna’s murder basement and found her rotting body, still laying where she fell, a hole in her head the only evidence of foul play. He didn’t need the hourglass—he didn’t need to see Kanna’s body—to know who did it, and to know who was coming for him. Naraku filled Kanna’s backwoods house with gasoline, and erased Kanna (and my vengeance) from existence. He knew that I would come for him last, and seemed content to clean up the mess my revenge brought forth, then simply wait for me to come to him. If I made it through the other two, he would not hide.

As I disembarked in Los Angeles and “found” a car in the long-term parking lot, Naraku was making phone calls to the other Spiders. They didn’t know where I was, they didn’t know what I was capable of, but they knew I was coming for them, and Naraku asked them to prepare. Was it an advantage for them? Certainly it was, when compared to being taken by surprise, but also, I _knew_ they knew I was coming, and I knew their tricks. And they were scared. Because I was a wraith coming back from the dead with the sole purpose of dragging them down to hell with me. It made me smile.

I was headed for the Salton Sea, a place of splendor in the 1960s that was now a husk of its former self. It was lonely and smelled like a carcass. It had been a long time since the Salton Sea held anything except death and economic desperation, so it was a perfect place for the Brazilian Wandering Spider to settle down.

Hakudoshi, a.k.a. the Brazilian Wandering Spider, was the son-of-a-bitch brother of Naraku, the only man that Naraku let into his little assassin squad. He was almost _worse_ than Naraku. I’m not sure why Naraku killed people, but there was always some sense of reverence or honor in it. Hakudoshi liked killing for the final moments. He loved the power he derived from knowing that his finger could decide if his victim was alive or dead. He liked to make them beg, plead, offer him anything he could want, and then shoot them in the end. This was what he did to me. I remembered his grin as I asked what I’d done, why they needed to kill _everyone_. And I remembered the way his eyes lit up when he got to pull the trigger again. Hakudoshi’s addiction was power. That was why he and Naraku were alienated. Because Hakudoshi’s desires for power were often directed at Naraku.

Why Naraku hadn’t killed him, I’ll never know. Maybe blood really does run thicker than resentments. But it also meant that it was my responsibility to squash the Brazilian Wandering Spider. So I drove down the musty highways, catching more and more dead salt scent on the air, and I knew I was getting close.

After the Spiders disbanded (i.e. after they’d massacred _me and my family_ ), Hakudoshi moved back to California. He took a job as a bouncer at a strip club—it was all he was suited for. The bastard was too stupid to even pass the police academy exams. So he spent his nights ogling naked women who hated him and roughing up bar patrons who got too handsy. It was not the best money, but it got him by. And it meant that he could pretend that he was not indebted to Naraku. When Naraku called Hakudoshi with news of “Black Widow”, he shrugged away the threat. Until he heard about the annihilation of the entirety of Kagura’s faction of the Yakuza. When he heard that, he actually prepared.

I figured he would, but… unfortunately for me, he did something unexpected. And I was about to find out just how badly my misunderestimation of him was going to hurt.

I parked two miles out from Hakudoshi’s trailer and continued on foot, having made sure that Hakudoshi was not working at the club that night. I had Tetsusaiga, I had my Sig, I was strapped with a dagger or two, and just for fun, I had a Swiss Army knife snuck into my shoe (you never know when one of those is going to be useful). I’d chosen to start my trek at sunset. He was probably sitting at home stroking it to porn (the man would never keep an actual girlfriend, usually just fucking the drunkest barfly at last call.) I’d make it at twilight, and would kick in his door. _No_ trailer had doors so reinforced that I couldn’t kick it in.

When I was finally within sight of the dilapidated little trailer, I noticed several things, all far too late. One was that the door to the trailer was already open. Another was that the sounds I’d been hearing, the ones I assumed could _not_ belong to anything of Hakudoshi’s, belonged to a pathetic looking dog chained to a pole in his front yard. A dog that had barked as I walked toward his house. The motherfucker had adopted that poor wretched dog for the lone purpose of alerting him when I came near.

“Hey _cunt_.” Was all the warning I got before I was hit with a pain so searing I felt like I was being burned alive. I fell backward, landing hard on my back, struggling to breathe through the pain. “Yup. That’s rocksalt you little bitch. I wouldn’t try to move. That shit stings.”

Before I could react, Hakudoshi was on me, pressing something against my face so hard I swore he was going to smother me. That was all I remembered. And I can’t tell you how _pissed_ I was that he’d gotten the upper hand. Especially when I woke up, my weapons all stripped from me, in a coffin.

The fucking bastard had buried me alive.  
  


I think I need to tell you about what was happening after I got cunt-punched by the worst person I’d ever known (worse than Naraku). Hakudoshi tied me up, then made two phone calls. One to Naraku, to let him know he’d “gotten me,” and one more. Hakudoshi didn’t exactly _recognize_ Tetsusaiga as being a priceless relic, but his greedy violet eyes definitely recognized that it was worth some money. And he knew that if he picked his buyer carefully, he could milk her for a _lot_ of money.

“What do you want?” The voice on the other side of the receiver dripped with contempt.

“I got the Widow you always wanted to be,” Hakudoshi replied. “And she has a real nice sword. Thought you might be interested in her trophies.”

“How much?” was the angry answer.

“How about a cool mil? Cash. I’ll throw in her Sig, the daggers she had, and even the location of the grave I buried her in.” Hakudoshi was practically cackling.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” was all that was said before the phone hung up.

After those phone calls, my still-unconscious body got loaded into the back of his truck, and driven out to some run-down graveyard. He picked up a couple of migrant workers to dig the holes, and paid them enough not to ask any questions.

A man with even the slightest modicum of honor would have waited for me to wake up to tell me what he was doing. But that might have given me a chance to kill him. A man with even the slightest modicum of honor would have killed me before burying me, but… I think Hakudoshi liked the visual of me waking up and finding myself in a tiny box buried underground.

And luckily for me, Hakudoshi was not an honorable man. Because if he was, I would be dead. But I’ll get back to that.

The woman on the other side of Hakudoshi’s phone call was the “Brown Widow”, Tsubaki. For those with less knowledge of arachnids than myself, it is important to know that the Brown Widow, while poisonous, is considered inferior to the Black Widow in nearly every way. Its venom is not nearly as potent, and its bites do not pack nearly the same punch. So… Naraku was making a _statement_ when he deemed Tsubaki “Brown Widow.” And it was not the type of statement either Tsubaki nor I appreciated, mostly because of the truth laced in it.

Tsubaki had a complicated childhood. She moved foster homes regularly, as other children had “accidents.” Her guardians were also found to die in mysterious circumstances, often in some damning way that told the authorities they were child molesters, or drunks, or abusers. It was as if they died by the sins they committed. She liked to make her killing personal, like a mirror. It meant she was the perfect assassin to deploy when a statement needed to be made in the killing, because Tsubaki _loved_ making that statement.

When she looked down at my broken body, I saw her statement clearly. _Finally_ . Finally Naraku understood that I was never loyal to him, and that I did not deserve to be “Black Widow.” That I deserved to die for my disloyalty, and that I deserved to die for… being superior. I don’t think she’d ever deny that she respected my skills as a warrior, but… she always wanted to feel like she was my better. Did I mention Naraku plucked out her eye the time she insisted that he promote her to Black Widow? I imagine _that_ was another reason Tsubaki dreamed of my death.

Unlike Hakudoshi, Tsubaki never stooped to cheap shots to win a battle, which I appreciated about her, even as I always watched my back when she was around. I knew she wouldn’t stab me in the back, but… she would be a little lax on covering for me if we ever teamed up. Naraku sensed it too, so he never teamed us up.

I think we’ve talked enough about Tsubaki, who at that very moment was heading toward Hakudoshi’s shithole trailer in Salton Sea, CA. While I, at that very moment, was thanking the gods that the motherfucker hadn’t checked my shoe. I was still tied up, but the binds were loose, as if he was certain that I would spring back to life at any moment after he’d chloroformed me. It made it easier to wiggle out of them than I thought. All the training throughout the years also paid off—I was flexible enough to bend my shoe up to where I could grab the metal treasure within.

Swiss Army knives. Never go anywhere without one.

So there I was, some number of feet of dirt and a cheap plywood coffin between me and my freedom, and all I had was a Swiss Army knife. But that didn’t matter, because _this_ Swiss Army knife had a saw extension. And so, I began to plan the work I needed to do before I ran out of oxygen. I had to work fast but not too fast, and I had to be prepared for the dirt pouring into me the second I broke through. Being in a grave was not as awful as I thought it would be. I’d already died once in my own mind, so all I was doing now was coming back from the dead. Again.

I stabbed a hole in the plywood with the smallest blade on the knife, and switched into the saw. I used my fingers to place the saw in the right place and I started my work. I needed the hole to be big enough for me to get out, but also I needed the cheap plywood to hold as long as it could before the dirt collapsed in on me. If it was too soon, the force of the dirt might even be able to break bones, and that was the last thing I wanted to happen. It’d delay my chance to wipe Hakudoshi’s grimey existence from this planet. With him, it was now beyond revenge. It was a need to eradicate vermin.

The hole I plotted out was just a bit wider than my shoulders. It was circular, and I’d positioned myself so that if it caved, I could brace. I breathed slow and deep, not letting the effort of my sawing speed my oxygen consumption along. It was meditative. I didn’t think about what came next—I thought about the next stroke of my little saw. I thought about how my hands could be used to dig. I thought about how to make sure I did not suffocate. And when it finally happened, and the dirt came pouring in on me, I continued not to panic.

Plywood was hard. Dirt was soft. I started moving the dirt around me, so I could scoot my body and push up and through the unsettled dirt around me. I used the bottom of the coffin as an anchor and my legs to help me stand upright, creating a wedge with my arms to move dirt out of my way and to increase the size of my pocket of air. Then I continued to dig upward. This I had to do fast, because if I didn’t, I _would_ suffocate.

But I was powered by vengeance. And for me, the vengeance had a calming effect. Why panic about dying when my heart was already dead? Why claw and cry and scream when the only things in this world I ever really loved were taken away from me? There wasn’t a reason to panic over death. And perhaps that was the biggest reason that I successfully punched through the ground and found myself back on the surface, having escaped from being buried alive.

Because, in all honesty, I was mostly dead. And the only thing driving me forward was that I still had three people to kill. Wherever Hakudoshi brought me, I knew I would be able to find my way back to his trailer. I knew I would kill him, especially now that I knew he had a fucking dog as his alarm system.

I dusted myself off and headed toward a line of buildings that seemed to be in the direction of morning twilight. I figured there would be a diner or at least a gas station, where I could probably sweet-talk my way into a little bit of food and coffee. As I said, a pretty face can get a woman nearly anything she needs on her quest for vengeance.

While I sat in a diner, having sweet-talked the burly chef into some scrambled eggs and coffee, a Porsche Carrera was making its way toward Hakudoshi. The woman in the car wore a plum scarf over her head, protecting her jet black hair from the wind, and oversized sunglasses, which obscured her aquamarine eyes. She drove with purpose, a silver briefcase sitting in her backseat, on her way to buy the name “Black Widow.” In her pocket was the smallest of vials, something she brought as a special bonus for Hakudoshi, something she planned to gift him once the deal was done.

We didn’t know it, but we were about to see each other. As I cleaned out the miniature craters to my chest that Hakudoshi’s cheapshot gave me, Tsubaki was nearly to Joshua Tree National Park. While I hissed as I let the soap wash away the last of the debris from being shot and buried alive, Tsubaki scowled. She never thought she’d be on her way to Hakudoshi’s to buy my identity, and I never thought that I’d be on my way to Hakudoshi’s to remind him—them _all_ —that my name was Kikyō. I dusted myself off, went and thanked the chef with a sweet little kiss on the cheek, and started my trek back to the trailer of my least favorite Spider. The chef gave me his number in case I ever “needed anything” and I headed out, remembering silver hair and the toothy grin of the mechanic who stole my heart and took it with him to the underworld.

After I “borrowed” a big bottle of water from the gas station, I started walking down the lonely roads to Hakudoshi’s house. If the directions and the map were anything to go by, I’d make it there in a couple of hours. It would be mid-day by then, but that didn’t matter. He’d failed at killing me, and now I had the element of surprise, and an even more complete survey of his surroundings. It was going to be fun to kill him.

While I walked, Tsubaki pulled down the long and lonely road to Hakudoshi’s. She passed my “borrowed” car without a second glance, and came to a stop in front of the trailer. Hakudoshi was outside, beer in hand, dressed in a wifebeater and generic athletic shorts. Tsubaki opened the door of the car and gingerly stepped into the dirt, her lip curling as she watched her perfect Louboutins get coated in dust. Her lip curl morphed into a frown when she looked over at the barking dog.

“You got it?” Hakudoshi called, scratching his groin with one hand while the other was firmly gripping a handgun.

“Depends on the quality of what you’re giving me.” Tsubaki let out a saccharin smile, which looked more like she was baring fangs.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Hakudoshi answered. He opened the door of his trailer for Tsubaki to follow him. “Don’t pull nothin’ or you’ll end up in a shallow grave too.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tsubaki rasped, and the two headed into the house.

Hakudoshi sat down at the cheap table that looked straight out of a 1970s teacher’s lounge in his ‘living area’, followed by Tsubaki, who then put her briefcase on the table.

“Put the sword and the Sig on the table and I’ll open the briefcase. And don’t pull shit. This thing goes boom if anything except the right combination gets entered.” Tsubaki did always know how to cover her bases.

“Fine. Don’t pull any shit.” Hakudoshi growled and walked into his back bedroom, returning with _my_ Sig and Tetsusaiga. The motherfucker was planning on selling _me_ to _Tsubaki_.

After a quick glance, Tsubaki smiled, clicking in the combination of the briefcase. She also made it a point to press her breasts together, and lick her lips. Hakudoshi had no need for my sword or my gun, and probably had realized that killing Tsubaki wasn’t worth it, especially if she was truly parting with that money.

For some reason, he bought completely into Tsubaki’s lustful looks at my sword and my gun, and the exchange was complete. 

“Shall we celebrate?” Tsubaki purred, projecting a feeling of bloodlust at my death toward Hakudoshi.

She also flashed a bit of her ballerina legs at him with just enough lust in her eyes to intrigue him.

“Why the hell not, _Black Widow_ ,” Hakudoshi grinned, licking his lips as Tsubaki stood up and walked toward the kitchen.

She made a show of swinging her hips and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, then opened the cupboard to grab two glasses. They made a loud clink as she set them on the counter.

Tsubaki paused, then opened a drawer. The moment she did she could feel Hakudoshi swoop into the kitchen. Out she pulled a generic ice pick.

“I like my whiskey on the rocks. Hope you don’t mind.” Tsubaki carried a grin. It was almost time.

As she turned around, she was pleased to see that Hakudoshi had closed the distance between them. She would not have much time, but she didn’t need it.

“Depends on how much _celebratin’_ you’re planning on doin’ tonight.” Hakudoshi’s eyes swept over Tsubaki’s body. She took the last step she needed to be close enough.

Tsubaki looked into Hakudoshi’s eyes, then licked her lips, drawing Hakudoshi’s gaze to them.

That was all she needed: that single second of distraction. With lightning speed, Tsubaki thrust the ice pick into Hakudoshi’s neck.

Hakudoshi howled as he was thrown back, trying desperately to stop the little spittles of blood that were coming out of the point Tsubaki hit.

“Widow’s kiss. Works fast huh?” Tsubaki’s grin turned wild. “Paralysis and death from simple contact. Much worse when it’s been introduced directly into the bloodstream. You probably feel the effects already.”

“You _bitch,_ ” was all Hakudoshi was able to gurgle before he collapsed onto his floor.

“You cheap-shotted _Black Widow_ , the greatest warrior I have ever known,” Tsubaki snarled. “You dishonored her with your actions. And so… you have been brought down by the same dishonor.”

Tsubaki blithely hopped over her struggling prey and went to grab Tetsusaiga. She unsheathed the weapon, and headed back over to a limper and limper Hakudoshi. “But,” she added, “I will give you a warrior’s death. Something I don’t believe you deserve, but _she does._ ”

With that, Tsubaki took my instrument of revenge, and cleaved off Hakudoshi’s head in a single elegant arc. She looked around the apartment, and found a clean handkerchief, wiping Tetsusaiga clean of the blood.

“Impressive,” was the only word she uttered as she took in the intricately folded metal of the blade; she didn’t get a chance to do much more before the door burst open, and I was on the other side.

* * *

“What the fuck?” Tsubaki lept back nearly as fast as I did.  
To say we were surprised to be facing each other is a bit of an understatement, but… we always did adapt quickly.

Tsubaki being here was bad, and confusing. Had that son-of-a-bitch really called _Tsubaki_ when he thought he’d put me down? The silver briefcase full of money. _That fucking prick_. It didn’t take long for me to sort out what went down.

“Drop my sword you _bitch_ ,” I growled, collecting as much information as I could to get my bearings.

“That’s two times I thought you were dead and have been disappointed,” Tsubaki mused, sneering at me. “If you’re looking for him he’s back there.”

I narrowed my eyes. I needed to see that Hakudoshi was dead.

“Tell you what. I’m gonna go back there and see for myself that that shit-head is dead. Then I am gonna pour myself a glass of that Jack.” I didn’t drop my defensive stance and had already identified at least three things within reach I could turn into weapons. “That sword is the heirloom of my fucking _innocent_ fiancé that you killed and cannot be bought with money. But you know that _Brown Widow._ ”

Tsubaki growled, but she shoved the sword into the floorboards. “Make it two Jacks. I don’t want anyone saying that I didn’t wipe you off this planet while having an advantage.”

I rolled my eyes and walked past her and into the kitchen. Hakudoshi’s head laid only a couple feet from his body, and both were nearly drowning in a pool of his blood. While some small part of me was happy to see him lying in two little pieces, I was angry that it wasn’t _me_ who separated his head from his body. I hopped over it and grabbed the two glasses and the bottle of Jack, then headed back over to Tsubaki, pouring us both three fingers worth.

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“Widow’s Kiss to the carotid. Best that fucker deserves,” Tsubaki answered, and we both took long sips on the whiskey. “How did you get out?”

“Swiss army knife.” I shot back.  
She or I were going to be dead by the end of this conversation, so no use in me lying, even as I knew Tsubaki couldn’t tell when I lied.

“I should’ve been Black Widow,” Tsubaki grumbled. “He made a fucking mistake.”

“Get over it Brown,” I growled, “He fucked with you. He strung you along. Played you. All because he knew he had the one thing from you he could never get from me.”

That had the effect I was hoping for: getting Tsubaki to her feet and growling. “You were never _worthy_ of him! So shut the fuck up right now _Kikyō_.”

Tsubaki didn’t know that saying my actual name instead of ‘Black Widow’ energized me as we stood. But that was the thing: Tsubaki was always extremely smart. Always knew the way into someone’s mind, their weaknesses, but for some reason, she never could get a peg on me. I blame that on her obsession. Her obsession with me stemmed from two deeper seated obsessions: her obsession with Naraku and his obsession with _me_.

I kicked the table into her face, watching as the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels careened over Tsubaki’s ducked head. She deftly knocked the table away, but it pushed her back. I raised my hands to my chest, to defend the still-hurting-like-a-bitch wounds to my chest, but also to let Tsubaki know how I planned to kill her. Hand-to-hand. The best Widow wins.

As we circled each other, staring directly into each other's eyes (well, in Tsubaki’s case, one eye-patch and one eye). I’m not sure what she saw reflected in my eyes, but I saw what was reflected in hers. It was what I knew would be there: fury, jealousy, and longing. Tsubaki was so obsessed with being Black Widow (not _me_ , _Black Widow_ ) that she could not get it out of her head.

Even now, still stinging from rock salt, still sleep-deprived from digging myself out of a grave, I had the advantage. Because Tsubaki carried the weight of her envy.

Tsubaki struck first: a thrust of her hand forward to try to hit me in the eye. I saw it coming and dodged it without much thought. In the time it took her to regain her balance, I was able to kick her hard enough to knock her down. I tried to press my advantage but she saw me coming, and nearly knocked me down on the floor with her.

“Don’t you fucking _dare_!” Tsubaki howled, and hopped back up.

She launched herself at me, her own rage fueling her push. As she hit me, we went through a wall. It gave a lot easier than I thought it would; apparently Hakudoshi’s cheap-ass trailer was made of cardboard. Tsubaki thrust her fingers into my throat, bruising my windpipe. It hurt like a bitch, but she’d just missed hitting me dead center, so at least some of the force of her blow got deflected. I shifted my weight and got the advantage, barreling us into the bathroom.

The toilet. It was what I was looking for. I got enough momentum to throw her head into the bowl, and used my strength to keep her there. She struggled against me, but I had a firm grasp on the back of her neck. The gurgling of the water told me that while she was bucking wildly, her mind was still thinking.

That’s how she managed to throw enough force into headbutting me that my nose shattered on impact. It was my turn to howl.

The thing about shattered noses is not only the blood, it’s the _burn_ that really does you in. The burn takes over the rest of your senses for a bit, so I needed to stall long enough for at least the stars to stop appearing in my vision. So I backed away, fast. Tsubaki was catching her breath from me nearly drowning her in the most disgusting toilet I’d seen that wasn’t in a flop house, so both of us appreciated the few moments to regroup.

“Tsubaki, do you _know_ why you will never be the Black Widow?” I mocked, backing us back toward the living room, where there was a bit more space. “Because you’ll never be as good as me.”

It got Tsubaki going again, back into the rage I liked fighting her in. Tactician Tsubaki was smart, made good decisions, followed the moves of her opponents, and found ways to use their weaknesses against them. That Tsubaki would have noticed I was trying to block my chest. Full-of-rage Tsubaki took more risks, was more unfocused, and put everything into every movement she made. Tactician Tsubaki would make killing her very hard, but full-of-rage Tsubaki needed luck to win, and was much easier for me to predict.

“Fucking _bitch_!” Tsubaki’s words were also becoming predictable.

We continued to use our hands, now balled up into fists. I was _shocked_ that rope-a-dope was working, with Tsubaki wildly swinging at me and me being able to block the blows with nothing more than my elbows. As I watched the adrenaline start to wear thin, and could tell she was tiring herself out, I struck. Jab to her ribs, followed by an uppercut to her chin that made her teeth clatter, then a roundhouse kick that got through and made yet _more_ contact with her ribs. I was winning.

Tsubaki looked wildly around us, keeping me just far enough away I couldn’t finish her off. But then I saw what she was looking for: _Tetsusaiga_. Tsubaki knew she was losing and she was planning on finding a way to get the upper hand. _The bitch planned on cheap-shotting me with the sword of my vengeance._

There was no fucking way that sword would give her what she wanted, so I let her pick it up. And in that singular moment that she was focusing yet again on getting to Tetsusaiga, I struck. One motion, I thrust my fingers into her eyeball, and I plucked out her other eye. Tetsusaiga clanked back to the ground.

Tsubaki screamed as she fell to the ground, flailing with all her might. I hopped over her and reclaimed the sword, _my_ sword.

“If you stop flailing, I’ll end this quickly.” I shouted over the din she was making, raising Tetsusaiga.

“Why? _Why? Fucking BITCH_!” were the only words I could make out in Tsubaki’s rant.

“Because he knew I would never be his.” I answered her unasked question: Why, when she gave Naraku everything, including _her heart,_ did he still favor me?

I could tell Tsubaki heard me, because she quieted for a split second. And that split second was all I needed to end her suffering. I threw Tetsusaiga, trusting in Inuyasha and his ancestors to guide its stroke, and watched as it pierced through the path I’d opened for it.

Tsubaki convulsed once, then stilled, Tetsusaiga having pinned her head to the floorboards, through her eye socket.

I pulled Tetsusaiga out of Tsubaki’s body, then looked around the trailer. I found my daggers and my Sig. I also took a couple thousand dollars from the briefcase: a rental fee for letting Tsubaki’s grubby hands touch my sword and rob me of the chance to kill Hakudoshi.

I exited the trailer, looking from the Porsche to the dog, then back to the Porsche.

After making the trip to my borrowed car, I was off, with the dog I refused to leave to starve in the passenger seat of the Carrera. I don’t know what happened to the dog after I dropped him off at a no-kill shelter, but I like to think a family with sweet little children adopted him, and he never spent the night alone again.

Finally, as I was on my way to do the last thing I needed to do before Naraku, I crossed their names off of my list: Hakudoshi (Brazilian Wandering Spider) and Tsubaki (Brown Widow). They were the second-to-last Spiders in my way to true vengeance.

Now, there was only one.  
  


After the events in Hakudoshi’s trailer, I made one final trip before continuing. My body hurt like hell, and Naraku would know I was coming no matter whether I rushed or took my time. I’m sure the moment he found out I’d survived his bullet to my chest, Funnel Web had begun planning his traps.

My stop was to that dusty little house, the house that _Kikyō_ thought she would get to live in with her husband and her daughter. Instead, this house had become a tomb. And while I borrowed Inuyasha’s sword to help him attain his vengeance, it was never truly mine.

Besides, I can’t kill Naraku with a weapon. I have to kill him with words.

So I walked back into the bedroom— _our_ bedroom—and I pried the loose floorboard back up. I lifted Tetsusaiga up, my fingertips caressing the sheath, and I gently placed it back into its resting place. It had served me well, and it had tasted the blood of three of Inuyasha’s killers. As I closed up the floorboard for the last time, I didn’t cry. My heart, it seemed, truly was gone now, with them. Which, to be honest, was for the best. Because there was one more thing I needed to do, and I needed my heart to be gone in order to do it.

I walked into the bathroom of our little house, and I found it: mother of pearl, shaped like a scallop shell, was a compact. It was Inuyasha’s mother’s. It was as precious to me as the ring he put on my finger. So, the last day I was to be Kikyō, I gave it a small kiss, and I put it in my pocket. It was the last thing I allowed myself from this life, the life I hoped to have, the life that would help me escape from… Black Widow.

The life he _punished me_ for trying to have.

So I got into Tsubaki’s Porsche Carrera, and I started my drive south, down through Nogales, and on my way to a small villa in Baja California: the villa in which I would find Funnel Web.

* * *

~~Brown Recluse (Kanna).  
Redback (Kagura).  
Brazilian Wandering Spider (Hakudoshi).  
Brown Widow (Tsubaki).~~  
I look down at my list. There is only one name left on it: the name that I have been waiting to cross off since the moment he left me to die in that chapel. And now, here I am, on my way to him, my list in hand and the dust under my tires. And that’s where I am now, driving down the road of the damned.

Naraku found _me_ when I was only sixteen. I was a mess, an alcoholic kid going from foster home to foster home. I don’t know what it is, but the types of people who open their homes to drug-addicted foster kids tend to be the types of people I relish in killing. And before you ask, no, I didn’t kill any of my foster parents, but… the moment that one of the “dads” or “uncles” tried to sneak into my room in the night, by the morning they were turning me back in, with nerve damage and the need to use a catheter for a while.

Under Naraku’s “guidance”, I never had another drink. He also saw something in my instincts, that I could often overpower people much larger and stronger than me, so he honed it. He trained me himself, stripping away Kikyō layer by layer, and replacing it with Black Widow. By the time I was 18, I could barely remember my own name anymore. I was Black Widow. And Black Widow gave Funnel Web everything he wanted, except for one thing. She gave him the reputation he craved. She gave him her eternal devotion. She gave him her nights and her body when he wanted it. The problem was, Black Widow couldn’t give Funnel Web Kikyō’s heart, _my_ heart. And then, that fucking auspicious day when I met an earnest mechanic, I tried to run. Because, even if Black Widow _wanted_ to give Funnel Web everything, and even as Funnel Web tried to make me wholly and completely Black Widow, inside, deep down, I was always Kikyō. And I still am.

So now, my heart is out of reach forever. I am ready to let Black Widow come back, because Black Widow doesn’t have to lie to Funnel Web about belonging to him. Kikyō’s heart is gone, and Kikyō and Black Widow are united in their singular purpose: revenge.

The sun is racing toward the horizon, as if I planned our showdown to take place in an old Western movie. I see his driveway now, veering off toward the ocean. His villa is set in the back of the property, with lush green grass linking palm trees and water oases, and the bright colors of flowers accent the organic and flowing landscape. It’s beautiful. There is a large artificial pond that sits in front of the terraced adobo house, looking as much a fortress as the Spanish conquistadors used to build when they came and claimed Mexico. If I wasn’t here for death, I would love to watch the setting sun from the second floor veranda, which looks off toward the Pacific Ocean.

I park the car. I know he’s watching me, waiting, seeing what I am planning on doing. I do strap my Sig to my body, but that is my only obvious weapon. I open the mother-of-pearl clamshell, and I smear the two compounds inside on my lips: one of vaseline, and one of deep red, that stains my lips like blood. Now, I don’t have much time.

I open the door of the car, and I walk forward. Then I wait. He won’t be able to resist meeting me, and I can already feel his eyes from just behind his door. I know he sees my weapon, but I also know that he’s aware he’d be able to shoot me before I could so much as unholster. I can picture him, standing in there, his maroon eyes taking in every inch of me, trying to decipher my meaning. But, Black Widow always was inscrutable, so he won’t be able to determine my motive without taking a closer look.

As if on cue, his door opens, and I see Funnel Web—no. _Naraku_ —for the first time since he shot me in the heart. His eyes are narrow, scrutinizing. His hair is long and wavy, pulled back in a ponytail. It’s obsidian, nearly as dark as his heart. He is clean shaven, with the same handsome, boyish face that I remember. He’s wearing a brown kung-fu style shirt with white ties and loose fitting white linen pants. His hands are on his gun, ready to win the duel he seems to think is coming.

I never break eye contact as I unholster my gun, watching his hands become white and tense on his own weapon. But then I throw it to the side and I drop to my knees. Even though I want to shoot him, Black Widow is patient. Black Widow wants to mourn her master’s betrayal, and so I let a sliver of remorse shine in my eyes.

“I thought I could do it, but I can’t,” I say, dropping my eyes to the ground. Black Widow knows that contrition will start to break through Funnel Web’s defenses.

Naraku advances on me quickly, bringing his gun directly into contact: dead-center on my forehead. I feel the cold steel there, insistently pressed into my skin. But I do not flinch. Black Widow is certain he is not going to shoot.

“I should shoot you where you sit.” His words are laced with malice, and he is pressing the gun hard into my skull. But still I do not back away, and still I do not look up. I don’t have much time, and I need to say the right things.

“The others. were easy,” I say, my voice strong with the slightest hint of tremble. “They were just jobs. But _you_.”

I still don’t move; I still don’t look at him. I am starting to feel the effects of my plan, but still I know I have time. Black Widow knows he wants to feel special, _chosen_ , as if he is my weakness.

“You came all this way. Killed them all. And you cannot kill _me_ ,” he says, and I can feel a glint of a smile starting to blossom on his lips.

“Why?” I jerk my eyes to meet his now, and I can see what I almost forgot was in them on that auspicious day. 

_Hurt_.

“I would ask you the same thing,” he snarls, his hurt quickly giving way to fury. But even as I see his anger, Black Widow knows I am closer to what _I_ want now than to being shot in the head.

“You could never give me the life of an ordinary woman,” I shoot back, because it is true. With Naraku, I would only be Black Widow. And I wanted to be Kikyō.

“It’s not a life that was ever available to you,” he scowls, and I disguise my joy to see the hurt creeping back into his eyes. “You are a killer, Kikyō. You love it. You relish it. You’re the best at it that I have ever seen. I trained you. I made you. And you repaid me by _running away from your destiny_.”

There is more hurt in his eyes now. So I reflect _my own_ hurt back to him. Black Widow learned long ago that Naraku was never truly able to read me, and for a while, I could not read him. Not until I reclaimed my name.

“It was not a destiny I _wanted_ Naraku,” I counter. “I didn’t think… that I could _ever_ have the life of an ordinary woman _with you_.”

This is the confession he was always waiting for. The words Black Widow knew I needed to say. His gun has not left my forehead yet, but his look softens. I may not have much time, but now I know that I will win. And I let that joy creep into my face. I know that he will read it as a response to the way _he_ looked at me, and he is not wrong about that: he’s just wrong about its meaning.

Naraku kneels, and he drops his gun to his side, although still within easy reach (unlike mine). He knows I could never take him in hand-to-hand combat, and he’s still on high alert, but his guard is down. He leans in, slowly, hungrily, and he claims my lips, kissing me with the fervor that takes my breath away. I had not thought it would be this easy.

His hands are around my head, pulling me in as close as he can, flicking his tongue into my mouth as he kisses me. We kiss like reunited lovers, because to him, that is what we are. Black Widow has come back to Funnel Web.

Suddenly his eyes go wide, and I can see him push me back, one of his fingers dancing against his lips, now the same shade of blood red as mine. It doesn’t take long for Widow’s Kiss to have its effect, starting by numbing the extremities. Very soon afterward, muscles start to spasm. There are no antidotes, and the moment it hits your skin, you are dead. Widow’s Kiss is excruciating, especially if you temper its entry into your body. I have been in pain since the moment I spread it across my lips, coming from the scalloped compact of the man that Kikyō loved. I merely needed to get him to kiss me to know that he was headed to hell, but his tongue tasted the poison as well, accelerating his death.

“Why?” he shouts, pushing me violently away from him, but he’s having trouble controlling his muscles now, so his attempts to grab his gun and shoot me are spreading the poison more quickly through his body.

“You wanted that which could never belong to you,” I answer, finally giving in to the spasms that I’ve been fighting until he kissed me. “And instead of letting someone else have my heart, you sent it to the underworld.”

I let myself collapse on the ground. The pain of Widow’s Kiss is _nothing_ compared to the pain of a dying heart, so I just lay there and let myself watch the light go out of Naraku’s furious eyes, gradually being replaced with the blank expression that comes to a body when their soul is taken to the underworld. I know I will follow Naraku soon. I can only hope that I will get to see my loves Inuyasha and Kagome again, proud that I truly have avenged their deaths.

If anyone finds me here, laying dead, they will find a note in a stolen Porsche Carrera: one that has five names written upon it. Four of those names are crossed out with a neat red line, and the fifth, Naraku (Funnel Web)’s name is smeared in blood red lipstick laced with Widow’s Kiss. The top of this note simply says “Kikyō’s Kill List.”


End file.
